Jasper: With Her By His Side
by fangirl2048
Summary: -Her heart hammering insistently in her chest, she turned her head to look at the space behind her, hoping and praying to all the gods that he was there. But he wasn't.- Piper suffers from the wrath of bad dreams, but this time, Jason isn't there to comfort her. Pointless and plot less. High T rating for suggestive adult content.


**Another Jasper! :D FLUFF. But a little angst too. No exact plot really; just a cute one-shot. Forgive me for the little boring philosophical rubbish at the beginning. :'( It's weird, I know, but I often ponder over the same question Piper is wondering about. Okay, u didn't need to know that. Sorry. Just skip this and start reading.**

-oOo-

Piper Mclean didn't usually get all deep and philosophical, but every once in a while, she liked to tell herself that her 'inner soul' was connecting with her. One such occasion was when she was pondering over the word, 'nightmares'. Why were they called 'night' and 'mares'? Like, what if you fell asleep during the day and a 'nightmare' decided to attack you? Would it then be called a 'daymare'?

Which was exactly why Piper never used the word nightmare. That, and one other reason.

Piper McLean was a demigod. And she was well aware that all demigods would suffer from bad dreams. It was simply an unspoken rule, like _suffer from the wrath of bad dreams or the gods shall disown thou_. So really, the nineteen year old woman wasn't exactly surprised when she would jolt awake in the middle of the night, her heart insistently hammering in her chest, the covers twisted around her legs and the uncomfortable feeling of being too hot and sweaty. Some were short, some were long; some were bearable while others were truly horrifying; some would be about the past, some about the future. Some were so horrifying and vivid they would literally paralyse her, and leave her to gasp and shake as she lay glued to the mattress, her eyes blown wide with terror and her lungs struggling to inhale as much as oxygen as possible. Those dreams would haunt her throughout the day. They would make her violently shudder without any trigger, and would cause red hot hammers to slam against the inside of her head relentlessly, bringing on a massive, torturous headache.

This was why she didn't like the word nightmares. She simply referred to them as bad dreams, since that word could easily be changed into a 'good' dream, while there was no way of altering the word _nightmare_ to make it into a more positive alternative.

It was always easiest when he was there. _Always_. Because then, as soon as she was silently jerked awake, she could instantly turn her head to find him sleeping soundly and peacefully next to her, his chest moving up and down with steady breaths. Or she could feel his warm, muscular arms wrapped around her body, shielding it with his own and protecting her, pressing her shoulders back onto the bed. Or she would wake to find the messy mop of blonde hair right in front of her eyes. It was days like these, when she would wake up to find him next to her, or sitting on the chair next to the bed doing research, or when he was _just there_ , that it was easiest to cope with the bad dreams. Because then Piper could immediately assure herself- or at least, begin to assure herself- that it wasn't real. That he was alive. He was safe. He was okay.

But there were some nights she wouldn't wake up like this. Some nights, she would jolt awake with the sheets clenched in her hands, screams being ripped out of her raw throat. If he was outside in the hall, he would always come in running, tripping over a vase in the living room or breaking a glass in his panic. Rushing to the bed, he would hold her tightly to him, whispering things she could never make sense of into her ear, but which comforted her all the same. He would always stay until she fell back into a deep slumber, gently stroking the back of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. However, after a particularly painful dream, if he wasn't even at home, Piper would stumble into the toilet in the dark and somehow form a desperate iris message. She would wait, her heart pounding in her ears. Upon seeing his face through the haze, she would often burst into tears in relief, flooding the toilet the wrong way.

In conclusion, bad dreams sucked. Big time. And this night was no exception.

-oOo-

 _Everything around her became a blur as her horrified scream echoed around their surroundings. She forgot the enemies surrounding her; the enemies who were trying to kill her. She just didn't care anymore. All she cared about was the boy some way away from her, whose face was rapidly losing colour as the glowing tip of a sword protruded from his stomach._

 _Piper felt her heart hammer in her chest, the thuds loud and clear, banging against her eardrums._

 _This time, she couldn't get there fast enough. She wasn't there to catch his shoulders as he fell and gently ease him onto the ground. She wasn't there to tenderly brush away his blonde hair from his forehead- still tender despite the desperate situation. She wasn't there to fix him. But she_ was _there just a second too late._

 _The cries and howls of either victory or anguish around her ceased, and the only being she could focus on was the boy lying on the ground in front of her as she collapsed onto her knees. As his loud breaths escaped his lips in rattling gasps, his entire body shook and trembled. His eyes were blown wide in horror._

 _Piper grasped his hand in one of her own, and desperately moved her other hand over his body, unsure of what to do as shock and terror blinded her. All she did was sit there and stare into his beautiful, brilliant blue eyes as they slowly lost their life and his hand fell limp from hers. She repeatedly and brokenly murmured the three words which unconsciously fell from her lips._

 _And then she started to scream._

The weird thing was, she wasn't screeching in terror and horror when her eyes shot open. No. Instead, she simply laid on her side with her heart thudding painfully in her ears and her breath being forced out of her lips in short, ragged and heavy gasps. The room was silent, and her skin felt uncomfortably hot and clammy.

When the room finally came into focus, her hand instantaneously shot away from her body and reached behind her, harshly patting his side of the bed. It was cold and empty. With the thunder in her chest increasing in pain with every breath, she turned her head to look at the space behind her, hoping and praying to all the gods that he was there.

But he wasn't.

As she unsteadily sat up and got to her feet, she didn't know that her kaleidoscope eyes were beginning to fill up with ushered, warm tears until one tipped over and streamed down her cheek. It hit the carpeted ground with a soft plop, loud in the silence of the bedroom. She almost slipped over soft piece of fabric on the ground, and leant down to pick it up, discovering it was a loose, long shirt. That was when she felt the cold smack of air as it hit her bare body and she pulled the shirt over her head as she shivered slightly, shielding her naked form from the cold air. Stumbling slightly, she began to walk towards the bedroom door, wanting nothing more than to see the dim yellow light from the hallway, which would signify that he was most likely simply staying up late that night.

-oOo-

Jason groaned out loud and harshly tugged on his blonde hair. He honestly hated college. With all his heart. Hadn't he suffered enough torment in his life without having to survive the horrendous wrath of _essays_ and being forced to stay awake through hours of lectures so dull and uninteresting even Annabeth would struggle to refrain from falling face first into her notebook. And the professor _always_ spoke in that _god-damn_ annoying monotonous tone, and he had to actually pick up a pen and _take notes._ It was hideous. Atrocious. Abominable. Appalling. Annabeth would be proud of his vast vocabulary when it came to describing that ever-lasting abyss filled with anguish and the student's cries of agony.

Even though the college building was situated in New Rome, it didn't make it any more bearable. The only advantage was that he could discuss sword fighting and other military techniques with other demigods without having to keep his voice down.

Plus, of course, he lived with Piper. Which made college life much more easier to handle. It was just the fact that he would soon be strolling back towards their apartment through the cobbled streets of New Rome hand-in-hand with her that got him through the day. Or the fact that, if her classes sometimes finished earlier, he would get home and open the door to find her gorgeous eyes sparkling with happiness at his arrival, or her lips would promptly break out in that adorable smile she always wore whenever she saw him.

Currently sitting against the side of the dark maroon couch in their apartment living room, he was desperately trying to withhold the urge of ripping all of his hair out in frustration. Sure, he loved his golden hair (yeah, call him a mama's boy, whatever) and he seriously loved it when Piper pulled on it while they were kissing or where they were doing _certain things_ (might involve his head in between her legs) in bed, but honestly, this essay was so exceedingly infuriating he would much rather lose his own hair than have a very angry Piper Mclean screaming at him for ripping the fabric of the couch and yanking the coils out.

The computer was settled on his lap, the underside of it hot against the tops of his thighs. The thin fabric of his pyjamas did little to prevent the heat radiating from the computer from burning his legs. Glancing at the clock, Jason mentally groaned when he realized it was almost Four AM. If he didn't finish up this essay soon, he would get almost no more hours of sleep.

Jason wasn't the kind of guy who didn't realize an essay had to be handed in the next day until the deadline was staring at him straight in the face, but today had been an exception. He had returned from the college building exceedingly late, around seven o'clock, and had literally fallen into bed. And then, of course, Piper just had to look so damn stunning and enticing that she had kept him up until one in the morning, making them both collapse into another world full of pleasure and bliss again and again. (Not that he minded that part at all, though).

Then, just as they lay pressed against each other in the middle of the bed, tired and exhausted and sweaty but content, did Piper finally fall asleep in his arms. He watched her adoringly, studying her face and body and chest as it rose and fell with every breath. And it was then, just as he was about to slip into an inevitable, _oh so inviting_ slumber, did he remember.

The essay.

The _essay_.

That god-damn fucking essay.

Practically jumping out of bed, he had hurriedly pulled the covers up, shielding Piper as she slept peacefully. Rushing desperately, he had pulled on his pair of pyjamas which had been thrown haphazardly on the floor, and sprinted into the living room. Grabbing his laptop, he had immediately leaped onto the couch. And had gotten straight to work.

However, after almost three hours he was only about two thirds done. And his mind was, of course, completely blank. He even contemplated calling Annabeth up, but he doubted she would be really pleased if he iris messaged her at two' o clock in the morning to ask for inspiration. And he sure as hell didn't want to interrupt her if there were things other than sleep going on in her bed.

"Jason?" The voice was soft and quiet, a clear sign that something was wrong. She was hardly ever quiet when she was around him.

He instantly looked up, all thoughts and concerns about the essay forgotten. Piper was standing in the doorway to the living room, her face illuminated by the dim night lamp. Her open hair was twisted and knotted, fanning out over her shoulders. Her long, bare legs reflected the colours being cast around the room, and the shirt she wore was much too loose and crumpled messily.

"Piper?" He asked. "What's wrong?" But he already had a fair inkling what it was. When she didn't reply, he decided to prompt her. "Nightmare?"

Her eyes clouded over, and the anguish she felt was clearly visible. Her lower lip wobbled as she slowly nodded her head. She walked unsteadily to the couch as Jason placed the lap top next to him and reached up to grab her hands. Gently, he pulled her down onto his lap and just let her stay there, burrowing into his warm chest. He remained silent, but pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her body and dropping a sweet kiss into her brown hair. Her fingers dug into his waist as they tightened their hold.

When she finally spoke, it was to tell him something he always dreaded to hear from her. Her voice was broken and soft, and it cracked in the middle. "It was a raw burger with a soggy bun and pee instead of apple juice."

Sure, if someone else heard those words, they would send Piper straight into a mental asylum, but Jason knew exactly what she was talking about. Him and Piper shared a system in order to rate the severity of their nightmares; a bearable one would probably be an okay meal with a missing ketchup sachet, but the worst nightmares possible would often be described as the most revolting, repugnant and repulsive dish imaginable. Jason was sure that if there was pee present instead of apple juice, the dream must have been bad. Really bad.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut as she began to shake in his arms. Her warm tears were wet against his chest. "Hey," he said as he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her easily and readjusting her so that her legs were at either side of his waist. Grabbing her face in his hands, he pulled her closer so their foreheads were almost touching. "Hey, look at me."

Slowly, she looked up so that her ever changing, watering eyes met his. He instantly spotted the sadness and pain which lingered in them.

She reached up to gently cup his face and stroke his cheekbones. Her eyes travelled over his face, as if memorizing his features, a kind of desperation deeply hidden in the action. Her fingers began to trace every part of his face; his eyelids, his jaw, tenderly brushing her thumb over his bottom lip, then leaning forward to softly press her lips to kiss the tiny white scar on his upper lip. Jason remained unmoving, bringing his hands down to her waist, fitting them to her curves, allowing her to repeatedly touch and learn his features, knowing it was helping her in many ways. Gradually, the desperation in her fingers increased, and soon, she was leaning back on his legs, giving her space to trace the white scar against the hard muscles of his stomach. Jason could see the hardness and anguish in her eyes increase, and he sighed quietly as she bought her fingers up to her lips and then pressed them against the raised white mark.

"Piper," he whispered. "Stop." She didn't. Her fingers flew over the mark on his abdomen again and again, reliving the terrifying memories it held. It was horrible for the both of them to see the scar. It was undoubtedly the closest Jason had ever been to death, and she had been there to see it. Without even having to ask, he knew what the nightmare revolved around. "Piper, listen to me," he said again, more forcefully this time. Her hand froze, and Jason grasped the chance to pull her towards him again. They were stomach against stomach, chest against chest and forehead against forehead. Reaching down, Jason slowly bought her hands back up and set them on his shoulders. She instantaneously weaved both of them into his hair, setting her upper arms on his shoulders. Their lips brushed against the other. Warm breaths mingling, they moved even closer, trying to minimize gaps and maximise contact.

"I don't wanna go back there," she whispered softly and brokenly against his lips. "Ever."

"You won't," he murmured back, his lower lip brushing her upper one with every word. His head was tilted up slightly to meet her eyes, since sitting on top of him elevated her form. "We won't. Ever, ever again. I promise."

"You can't promise me something like that, sparky," she said softly. "None of us can promise each other that we'll be alive tomorrow."

"You're right," he said, his hand finding its way under the hem of the shirt she was wearing and making soothing circles on the skin there. "I can't promise you that we'll be okay tomorrow, or next week, or maybe ten years from now. But I _can_ promise you that we're okay now."

She gazed straight into his eyes. One of her hands instinctively moved out of his hair and reached down between them to lightly touch his scar.

"See?" he asked quietly. "I'm okay. We're okay." He grasped her wrist and made her press down on the mark harder. "Okay?"

Instead of replying, she simply nodded her head, a lone tear streaming down her beautiful face. He wiped it off with his thumb. Suddenly, simultaneously, they both leaned towards each other and their lips crashed in a passionate yet sweet kiss they had mastered by now.

"Wanna stay here with me?" he asked she had pulled away. Nodding, she got off of him and settled down next to him, curling in a crescent form against his body and setting her head against his shoulder. Jason lifted up the dreaded electronic device from next to him, set it on his lap and sighed as he looked at the document.

"Need some help?" He internally smiled as he heard the teasing, playful tone weaved into her voice again.

"Yes, please," he said fervently. "I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing."

"Okay, then." She sat up, and pulled the laptop so it was set between them. "Let's rock this motherfucker."

And Jason had to admit, completing the damn essay was much more bearable with an overly active, hyper Piper by his side.


End file.
